


Holding the World Back

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Mozzie's shooting, Peter looks out for Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding the World Back

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://sholio.livejournal.com/profile)[**sholio**](http://sholio.livejournal.com/)'s [prompt](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/20921.html?thread=621241#t621241) on [](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/)**collarcorner** and also for Caffrey-Burke Day. It was put together a bit last-minute, but I really wanted to help celebrate the day.

Peter knew even before he checked the tracking data that Neal would be at the hospital. It was half a mile outside Neal's radius, but Peter had called in an exception to the Marshals to allow him to stay there as long as he wanted, or at least as long as the nurses would tolerate him. With Kate dead, there was nothing that would make Neal run while Mozzie was down. If Mozzie died, Peter didn't know if that loss would make Neal run for real or end his running days for good.

He hoped that neither of them would have to find out.

When Mozzie was taken from the emergency room to the operating room for a surgery that would take several hours, Peter had waited with Neal for the first hour but ultimately there was a case, work that needed to be done, his dog that needed to be fed. Life continued while Mozzie lay under the knife, and Neal had been so deep inside his own head that Peter doubted his presence was doing any good. A call later in the evening brought the news that Mozzie had survived the surgery and was in a medically-induced coma, and when Neal's call went unanswered Peter knew he was in with his friend. Waiting. Waiting.

It was early morning, over an hour before his first meeting of the day, when Peter walked into Ivan Bliminse's room with a cup of coffee in hand. The nurse at the desk had confirmed that Neal stayed the night, a fond smile on her face that made it clear that even half out of his mind with worry Neal still had his charm. He thought he might find Neal huddled up in a chair asleep, but when he entered the room Neal was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed and his clothes uncharacteristically rumpled.

"Neal," Peter said, his voice pitched low, and Neal startled, his eyes open wide as he jerked himself upright and started to overcompensate until Peter steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "Hey."

Neal looked over at Mozzie and then back at Peter. "Did they call you?"

"Not since last night. Why, did something change?"

"No, I--" Neal shook his head. "I don't know, sorry. What time is it?"

"Just after seven in the morning. I hate to say this, but we need you at the office. We need you to help us get this guy."

"Of course." Neal rubbed a hand over his face then through his hair and frowned. "Is there time for me to get cleaned up?"

"That's why I came to get you this early. Here, start on this." Peter handed over the coffee, and Neal took a long swallow.

"Give me a minute?"

Peter nodded and left the room as Neal went back to stand next to Mozzie's bed. He'd just started looking at e-mail on his phone when Neal came out, still disheveled but looking grimly resolved.

"Let's go," Neal said, and Peter followed. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

~~~

Showered and dressed, Neal looked almost up to his usual standards, but Peter could see the cracks in the facade. His eyes were shadowed, his forehead pinched, his shoulders tense. In the office, Peter left Neal at his desk in the bullpen with a stack of files on possible suspects, but he couldn't help watching from his office above.

Neal was clearly trying to focus, but all too frequently he would go still, close his eyes and take in a deep, long breath, his shoulders rising, chest expanding. When he saw Neal with his elbow propped on the desk and his head resting on his hand, Peter knew it was time to step in. Diana caught his eye as he walked down the stairs, then looked over at Neal and back, one eyebrow raised. Peter nodded; there was no way Neal was going to get through the day like this.

Peter walked around Neal's desk and leaned his hip against the edge of it next to Neal's chair, and only then did Neal look up, the lines between his eyes deeper than they'd been earlier. "Hey," Neal said. After a long blink he sat up straighter. "Did something happen? Did--"

"No, I haven't heard anything, and you know that's good news at this point."

Neal nodded. "You need me for something?"

"Yeah. I need you to come with me. Leave the files."

"Okay." Neal sounded uncertain, but he didn't argue. He stood up and let Peter shepherd him down the hall to a small meeting room that had a sofa inside. It wasn't the most comfortable sofa, but it had served as a bed for enough exhausted agents that they kept blankets in the closet. Neal looked around the otherwise empty room. "Who are we meeting with? Does Hughes--"

"You're meeting with the sofa." Peter put his hand on Neal's back and felt the tension there even through his clothes. "Sit down."

"We need to figure this out." Neal shook his head, looking toward the door. "We need to _catch_ this guy."

"Sit. Down." Peter crowded Neal closer to the couch then pushed down on his shoulder until he gave in and let his knees fold. Peter sat down next to him, and Neal slumped forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead pressed against the heels of his hands. "You doing okay?" Peter asked, and he immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"Not really," Neal said, his voice muffled as he talked to the floor. "But this isn't going to help."

"You know this isn't going to be a quick thing, Mozzie _or_ the case. This guy is too good to let it be that easy for us, and Mozzie's going to be in there for a little while. You're not helping anything if you burn out right at the start."

Neal took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Sometimes—“ Neal slumped further down, moving his hands to cover his eyes. “ I don’t know.”

“Sometimes what?” Peter put his hand on Neal’s back, making the connection even if Neal needed to hide in the dark.

“Everything that’s happened—Kate, Mozzie, almost _killing_ Fowler. Sometimes I think I should’ve been on that plane.”

Peter froze. He wanted to pull Neal upright, wanted to shake him, but then he felt Neal’s unsteady breaths shaking through his ribs and into Peter’s hand. This was exhaustion and grief talking, and of all the times Neal needed a good shaking this wasn’t one. He ran his hand up Neal’s back and then back and forth across his shoulders. “I’m glad you weren’t, and so is Mozzie.” He kept his hand on Neal’s back for a few more breaths and when Neal didn’t respond he moved to tug gently on Neal’s arm. “Come on, sit up for a minute.”

Neal sighed and yielded. His eyes were bleary but dry and he blinked at Peter. “What am I supposed to do.”

“Take off your jacket.” Peter took the jacket from Neal as he complied. “And loosen your tie.” He got up and pulled two blankets from the closet then put one of them still folded at the end of the sofa.

“I can’t do this,” Neal said, and Peter wasn’t sure if he meant sleeping or dealing with everything else.

“Sure you can. Come on, take off your shoes and stretch out. Just close your eyes and get some rest even if you can’t sleep.”

“I guess for a little while.” Neal toed off his shoes and stretched out on the couch, his head pillowed on the folded up blanket. “You’ll wake me up if you hear anything?”

“I promise.” Peter shook out the second blanket and spread it out over Neal. “Now close your eyes.” He turned off the overhead light but left the blinds open to let in some natural light. Neal closed his eyes, and Peter stood watching him until Neal’s body relaxed, his breaths slow and steady. He could have been pretending, he was more than good enough to carry off that con, but Peter didn’t think he had the energy to bother. Out in the hallway, Peter taped a Post-It note marked “occupied” to the door in hope that Neal would be left alone.

He knew that they would crack the case and get the right man behind bars. He knew that soon enough Neal would wake up, straighten his suit, and paste on his smile. He'd go back to work like the world wasn’t trying to break him, and Peter couldn't help Mozzie but he could hold the world back for a little while. Just a little while.


End file.
